


Holding Pattern

by stepstate



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Humor, Awesome Natasha Romanov, BAMF Clint Barton, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Clint Feels, Clint Needs a Hug, Gen, Natasha Feels, Natasha Needs a Hug, Natasha-centric, Protective Clint, Protective Natasha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-09 17:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1990953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stepstate/pseuds/stepstate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha Romanoff helped destroy Project Insight with Steve and the others, but her cover(s)  are blown to smithereens just like the three helicarriers back in Washington.  She is doing her best to lie low in a small town of all places and taking up a regular job of all things.  Unfortunately, lying low is easier said than done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Holding Pattern**

**  
**Natasha ran the length of uneven sidewalk avoiding broken bits of concrete in the apartment complex and deftly dodging puddles from the unexpected downpour, thankful for her quick reflexes and acrobatic abilities.   It was good to know all her spy training was being put to good use while she was lying low in the aftermath of Project Insight’s destruction. **  
**

Try as she might, though, it was an exercise in futility to keep the contents of her Whole Foods recyclable bag dry from the pelting rain.  A bolt of lightning scarred the sky as she jumped another large puddle.  She had finished her shift at Utah Olympic Park and just wanted to get home and try out one of the Five-Things-You-Never-Thought-to-Do-with-Tomatoes recipes she saw online that morning before work.  Natasha could count on one hand the number of times she’d cooked a meal in the past year and worried that this seemingly simple recipe might be harder to assemble than The Avengers.

She had almost navigated through the jagged concrete sidewalk and puddles to the dryness a clump of evergreen trees offered when she heard a scream.  

“Черт,” she muttered.

In a fairly crime-free city, she managed to hole up in the one sector that, according to the local news, had a couple of men mugging women.  And, of course, they seemed to be targeting her apartment complex.  It was an older complex with lots of dark shadows and narrow walkways with foliage that had grown over the years providing lots of hiding spaces for anybody wanting to flex their mugging muscles.  

Natasha didn’t have to make a decision as she might have done years ago before Clint saved her from the manipulative managings of the Red Room.  She acted on instinct.  Hoping her tomatoes wouldn’t bust open, she tied the handles of her reusable bag and tossed it under the trees before darting in the direction of the trouble.  A low rumble of thunder sounded across the sky just as she rounded a corner.  She entered a deep recess of the brick building hidden from the one street lamp at the edge of the main sidewalk.  Lightning followed the rumbling thunder and illuminated the evening sky full of dark, stormy clouds.   In the flickering light, Natasha scanned the scene unfolding before her.  

Two men closed in on a woman clutching her purse tightly.  The shiny edge of a knife held in the air was her first priority.  Natasha sprinted a few short steps and banked off the brick wall.

“Watch out!” one of the men shouted to his accomplice as the flash of Natasha’s canary yellow Olympic Park shirt gave her away in the darkened corner of the crime.

The warning came too late.  

She catapulted into the knees of her target.  He quickly crumpled to the wet pavement, pooling rain splashed wildly into the air.  His knife flew safely into a tangle of bushes several feet away.  She somersaulted and spun around.  remaining low to the ground in a crouched position.  

“Fuckin’ hell--”  The man shook his head and attempted to get up.  

Natasha sprung up like a tiger on the kill and delivered an elbow strike to the man’s temple.  He groaned and fell back to the ground, unconscious.   She bounced upright, light on her feet, and faced the remaining mugger.  

“Ya wanna play rough?” the man taunted.  He towered over Natasha by at least ten inches with broad shoulders and muscles to match.  He pulled out a knife of his own and flicked the six-inch blade open.  “I got your rough right ‘ere.  Come and get it.”

Another crack of lightning filled the sky as Natasha tilted her head and smirked.  “I really shouldn’t level down to play with amateurs,” she said, her voice smooth and soft.  “But I’ll make an exception in your case.”

As they circled each other, Natasha glanced over to the woman crouched against the wall.  “Hey, Tide Girl,” she recognized her from when she borrowed detergent a few times in the complex’s laundry room.  Natasha could fly a jet plane and solve Bitcoin algorithms in her sleep, but she couldn’t remember to bring detergent when doing a load of laundry.  “Call 911.”

“Scared ya might need help,” the man sneered.

“No,” Natasha lunged with the speed to match the lightning streaking across the clouds.  “Just a courtesy call for your ambulance ride when I break your jaw.”  

She grabbed his forearm.  He reached for her brown hair, sopping wet in the rain, but Natasha deflected his hand with a quick side swipe of her other arm.  She administered a brutal roundhouse kick to his jaw.   _Crack!_  His jaw broke, and he was done.  Staggering backward, he tripped over his partner and joined him in the land of the unconscious.  

Natasha allowed herself a small smile as she pushed a wet tendril away from her cheek.  

“How did you--?  Where did you--?”  the woman by the wall came forward, stammering.

“Ah, nothing a few self-defense classes couldn’t handle.  Men like these never anticipate a woman being able to handle herself.”  Natasha looked the woman over.  “Are you hurt?”

“No.  Thanks to you,” she said.  “I’m so glad you came by.  My name’s Emily.  What’s yours?”

“Tania,” Natasha answered.  She decided to go with Tania Robinson as her latest alias.  “Look, these guys are knocked out cold.  Trust me.  And,” she hesitated, “I’d rather not be around when the cops and paramedics arrive.  Can you handle things from here, Emily?”

“Sur...sure.  Go ahead.”  

“Just stay under this overhang where you’ll be out from the rain for a few minutes.  Looks like you just caught the two creeps terrorizing the complex tonight,” Natasha winked at her.

“Me?”

“Yep,” Natasha answered, smiling.  “See ya in the laundry room.”   She backtracked to pick up the soaked bag from under the trees and darted up the steps to her apartment . . . and kitchen where she would attempt to make the tomato recipe.  “Something tells me knocking out two goons mugging a woman in an alley is much easier than making Tomato Strawberry Bruschetta,” she mumbled as she walked into her apartment.

****  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha is doing her best to maintain a low-key life for a few months after Project Insight, but her thoughts keep floating back to The Winter Soldier . . . and Clint Barton.

**Holding Pattern:  Chapter 2**

_Beep beep beep!_

The alarm tripped, its shrill sound loud enough to wake the dead.  Or at least Natasha.  She stirred from her strong, deep sleep and reached over, covering the alarm with her hand.  Pressing the snooze button, she promptly hurled the offending alarm clock like a missile across the cramped bedroom. _Bam!_  It connected with the wall and landed with a soft thud on top of her laundry basket.  

_Beep beep beep!_

Five glorious minutes passed until the alarm invaded her dreams once again, this time out of reach from her wrath.  

“Ughh.”  Natasha threw off the covers and padded across the carpeted floor to silence it for good.  She considered smashing it with her foot but didn’t feel like buying another one later in the day, so she settled for simply turning it off.

Yawning, the black tank top she wore rose along her midriff as she stretched her arms above her head.  The scar from her interaction with The Winter Soldier peeked out underneath the form-fitting fabric.  Her fingers grazed the puffy skin of the scar as she pulled her tank back down, and instinctively her fingers floated up her torso to feel the other one on her shoulder.  

Two scars.  One man.

Two battles.  One victor.

And she didn’t like it.  She wasn’t used to losing.  At anything, really.  But Steve knew the damn jerk and had embarked on a mission to save him.  She couldn’t argue that point seeing as how she had been just like him -- brainwashed, enhanced, and trained to be a first class killing machine.

Her mind wandered off to thoughts of how things would have turned out in those two battles if she were still a product of the Red Room.  Had she lost some of her edge by being her own person?  

“Damn it all to hell,” Natasha huffed, looking at the time as she placed the clock back on her nightstand.  Being lost in her reverie was making her late for work.

She shook her head to clear the thoughts and went to grab a bagel from the kitchen.  As she waited for it to heat in the toaster, her eyes fell on the remnants of her bruschetta from the night before.  She ended up doing well with the domestic event last night even though she treated the recipe’s ingredients with the same care she would give the wires of a nuclear missile she was disarming.  She couldn’t help but smile as she thought of what Clint’s reaction would be to her cooking something.

Finishing up her bagel, she got dressed for her job at Utah Olympic Park.  She figured working as an extreme high ropes course instructor would help keep her in shape as she “disappeared” for a few months.  Normally, Natasha would do what all super spies would do -- go to a large, bustling city with multiple exit routes.  But she yearned for something different, something quiet, something peaceful.  Her jumbled thoughts needed time and space to heal.

And Park City, Utah offered that.  At least when she wasn’t knocking out muggers in the middle of a summer thunderstorm.

Looking in the bathroom mirror, she quickly slapped on some powder and applied mascara before smoothing her red hair.  Her brown wig from the night before was dry, and the curls had reformed.  

Natasha took one last look in the mirror to make sure the wig was secure.  She grabbed her string bag and was about to leave.  She hesitated, glancing over at her laptop and wondering about Clint.   _Stop it,_ she told herself, _it hasn’t been enough time._  And she walked out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A friend of mine read this and mentioned wanting to see how I wrote Clint. It also inspired me to change a few things and make room for him in this chapter. :)

“See ya tomorrow,” Natasha said, waving at the two college students, Katie and Chris, that she worked with at the ropes course.

“See ya, Tania,” Chris called back.  

“We’ll take the leftover cables and hooks for ya,” Katie added.  

Gathering the extra gear, they jumped off the wooden platform and zip lined to the starting station where all the equipment was stored, their forms getting smaller as they descended.  

Two of the courses were pretty easy to navigate for the average person with fairly good balance seeking a thrill, but the extreme course where Natasha was stationed made the American Ninja Warrior course look like it belonged on a kindergarten playground.  The  difficulty of the course factored into the interview for the job as all applicants were required to complete the course to make sure they could traverse it.   

John MacDonald, or Mac as he introduced himself to her, conducted the interview.  Mac wasn’t expecting much from the petite woman.  She was barely over five feet tall, and a lot of the elements on the course were better suited for taller adventure seekers.  He barely paid attention to her answers and may have even checked his watch a time or two.   

Mac was sure he’d be sending one of the instructors up to rescue her.  Truth be told, he was only interviewing her because  the picture she included with her résumé caught his attention when rifling through the online applications for summer positions.  She was easy on the eyes.  

Natasha breezed through the course, and Mac’s ink pen fell from his slack jaw as he watched her navigate the difficult elements.  Other workers in the area gathered around, and they all gawked when they looked at her time.  Finishing over eleven minutes faster than anybody else who had tried out, Natasha remembered everyone being impressed.

_“That was . . . amazing,” Mac said, his eyes wide._

_“Thanks.”_

_“Ya ever work in a circus?” a tall, younger man standing nearby asked._

_“No,” Natasha said, as the others around him gathered.  Her thoughts flashed to Clint. “But I have a friend who did.”_

_“Well,” Mac said, extending his hand to Natasha, “you’ve got the job if you’d like it.”_

_“We haven’t finished the interview --”_

_Mac laughed.  “You finished it for me.”_

_Natasha flashed a winning smile that lit up her green eyes.  “That works for me,” she said, shaking his hand.  “When do I start?”_

_“Tomorrow.  Our area is prone to nasty orographic thunderstorms in the summer as the air is forced over the mountains.  They can be pretty_ _damn brutal.”_

_“So . . .”_

_“So with your, um,” Mac motioned toward the course, “obvious skills, you’d be perfect to send out to help people when these storms start.  We have to get them off the course immediately, and people tend to freeze up with they see these dark clouds come out of nowhere.  You’re not scared of thunder and lightning, are you?”_

_“I’m not scared of anything.”_

She always volunteered to stay behind and go back through the course checking each element.  After completing all the checks, she would complete the course one last time as a speed drill and would smile each time she checked her watch, never failing to best her previous times.  As hard as this course was, it was a piece of cake next to catapulting off Cap’s shield to catch a ride on a Chitauri soldier’s souped up air chariot.  

Finishing up for the afternoon, she stopped by her locker in the employee’s break room.  The locker was small, dented and scratched up from years of use, but it was big enough for her string bag.

“Sooooo . . .” Mac poked his head around the dented locker door, his wiry hair going in all directions like he had just stuck his finger in an electric socket.  “How much time have you shaved off now?”  

Natasha glanced up at him.  “Today?  Another four seconds.”

“Gee, that’s all?” Mac punched her arm lightly and smiled.  

She froze and cut her eyes to her arm, cocking one eyebrow before looking back at Mac.  “I ate a big lunch,” she decided to joke.  “Must’ve weighed me down.”

Mac laughed and Natasha grabbed her string bag.  She closed her locker door and walked out of the break room,heading outside toward the bike rack.  

“Hey, Tania,” he started.  “Speaking of food, there’s a concert tonight over at Deer Valley’s Amphitheater.”  He waited a beat until she looked up at him.  “People bring blankets and food and, ya know, beer.  There’s a huge fire pit.  Care to come with?”

“Oh,” Natasha said.  She expected him to ask her out at some point, just not this soon.  He checked on her every day at the ropes course and always made a point to grab his lunch five minutes after she went to the staff lounge to eat her own.  And he would linger trying to make small talk when she went to retrieve her belongings after work.  Like today.  “Mac, I’m in a relationship.”  Natasha wasn’t known for her soft side.  One person had seen that side of her.  Ever.  And that had taken months of working closely together on insanely dangerous missions in the name of national security, and in some cases, saving humanity.

“Oh, hey -- no big.  I didn’t know,” he laughed to himself and scratched his head.  “I must’ve missed that detail the past few weeks.”  

“Yeah.  Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay?  I gotta get this bike back to my friend,” Natasha dug her helmet out of her bag and adjusted the strap around her chin, making sure it was secure like she’d done countless times today for people on the high ropes course.  The friend, of course, was Emily.  She had been borrowing a lot of things from that poor woman.

She rode off without looking back.  The temperature cooled considerably once the sun set, and the wind produced by riding the bike was heaven on her skin after baking in the hot sun all day.  The high elevation of the Wasatch Range didn’t help either.  Her fair skin was two shades deeper now -- and that was with a liberal spraying of 50SPF sunscreen every few hours.  

Several bikers were traveling in the wide bike lanes once she got on the main road, and Natasha rode along with them.  A bike-friendly city,  Park City catered to bikers with wide lanes on the side of the road and bike racks all around town.  After a couple of miles, she pulled into a fairly new development that was part stores and restaurants and part new overpriced condos.  She navigated the roundabouts that Park City loved so much (and that reminded her of Europe) and parked her bike at Café Zupas, a trendy soup, salad, and sandwich restaurant that she’d come to love in her short time there.  She figured she was pressing her luck with cooking and thought she’d give herself (and her kitchen) a break.  Café Zupas had a Wisconsin Cauliflower soup that her tastebuds were screaming for tonight.  She chose a side salad of raspberries and spinach to go with the soup and then settled into a chair outside to eat.  

Her thoughts also settled … on Clint.  

The roundabouts, the outdoor eating.  They only fed her brain of memories of her many missions with Clint.  

Judging from his last ciphertext, he was currently finishing up a grueling mission gathering intel on the arms trade in the Northern Triangle.  She wasn’t worried about his safety.  That region did have the reputation as one of the deadliest areas in the world outside of active war zones, but Clint could certainly handle himself.  

She was just … wanting to see him.  Five weeks apart on separate missions was too long.  She missed sparring with him in the massive training facility at S.H.I.E.L.D.  She missed their snarky bantering.  She missed the way he felt comfortable enough to put his feet in her chair at the joint where they ate shawarma.  No one else would dare to do that, and she loved that about him.    Черт, who was she kidding?  She missed a lot of things about Clint, but right now she missed his mouth on hers.  

Soon, she thought.  Soon.

………………………………...

“Oh, shit!” Clint grunted as he tossed a Stark Industries enhanced flashbang grenade down the dark hallway.  The grenade exploded with a deafening boom and smoke billowed in all directions, effectively hiding Clint from view of his pursuers.  

Their rifles blasted and bullets zipped past Clint.  Running in a zigzag pattern, he felt his phone vibrate, and his thoughts (even though he was knee deep in a fucking crisis situation right now) went to Natasha.  He reached his exit point and dove out the window, leaving a sticky substance on the sill.  Moments later the window exploded, and Clint was safely on the ground.  He ran into three men when he turned a corner of the building and disposed of them in a flurry of hard kicks and fast punches.  As they fell like dominos unconscious to the ground, he made his way into the darkness of the night.

When he reached his rendezvous point, his top priority wasn’t checking himself for injuries that his adrenaline-pumped body may have not noticed.  It also wasn’t double checking to see if his camera was intact or if he was being followed.  No, his top priority was checking his phone. He dug it out from deep inside his flak jacket and immediately pressed the screen to check his texts.   _Dammit . . . it’s just Coulson._  He was really hoping it was a certain fiery redhead ready to reconnect.  

 **  
**He knew she needed time, but damn.  He tucked it back into his jacket, gathered his gear and waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first attempt at any Avengers-based fanfic. I'm definitely trying to feel my way with the characters and am using the Marvel movies. Unfortunately, there isn't much to go on regarding Clint. I sure hope that changes with Age of Ultron.

**Author's Note:**

> There will be one more chapter -- maybe two, depending on how the story plays across my keyboard. :)


End file.
